


Comes Corporis

by Blablu



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21682246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blablu/pseuds/Blablu
Summary: Hawke's companions, their daemons, and how they see themselves and the world around them.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	Comes Corporis

**Isabella : Jaguarundi**

When they were kids, Azafrán loved to take the form of a goat – adventurous, nimble and sure-footed. At the time, they enjoyed nothing more than running, followed everywhere by the curses of people whose balance they’d upset, whose stall they’d wrecked, whose boots they'd splashed on a rainy day.  
When Azafrán stopped changing, they both saw in her feline form a symbol of elegance, of seduction, and they took pride in it. Later it became something else, something burning and bitter. _We are not cattle,_ they used to whisper to one another in the dark. _We are not cattle, to be sold and brought. We are not cattle and we are not tamed._  
It doesn’t really mean anything anymore, and no great loss there. At the end of the day, it’s good enough to walk the docks, and smell the brine, and hear the boats creak and chime. At the end of the day, it’s good enough to simply be.

**Varic : Western Capercaillie**

\- You’re so fucked, says Bianca when it happens. You are both. So. Fucked.  
Varric doesn’t answer. For once in his life, words fails him. He watches helplessly as Kalnath plucks a few feathers from her back. _Maker helps us_ , he thinks. _We’re a bird._  
\- Is it that bad ? Kali finally asks.  
Varric shrugs. Bianca scoffs. Amgarrak - who’s a wasp now apparently, the lucky bugger - immediatly buzzes :  
\- Of course not. You’re beautiful.  
Bianca scoffs again :  
\- That’s not the point. His parents are going to kill him. Dwarves don’t have bird daemons. They just don’t. It doesn’t happen.  
\- Well, it just did !  
Varric hadn’t meant to snap and, really, Bianca’s right, but Kalnath looks almost as frightened as he feels and they cannot have that.  
\- It just did, he repeats more calmly. It just happened. We’re a bird. And you know what ? We look fucking great.  
_Let the shitstorm come_ , he thinks, and Kalnath preens.

**Merrill : Pangolin**

"What form will my daemon take" is a game all Dalish children (and all children, surely !) play. Merrill tries not to, because Marethari says it’s unwise, and when Tamlen, Fenarel and Mahariel brag about wolves, or golden hallas, or even griffons, she shakes her head sternly and reminds them that life rarely gives us what we want. (they don’t care. they have hopes and dreams and an energy she can’t match, because she already knows her purpose)  


\- I’d love to be a squirrel, Sulevin says, and she has to agree.  
(a squirel would be nice)

She couldn’t have guessed, anyway, because whatever Sulevin is it’s not something anyone in the clan has ever seen. She marvels at how perfect it is, though, at how much it fits – the awkward gait, the shell, the sharpness of each scale. Merrill, her face still raw from the fresh Vallaslin, feels alien, and right, and that maybe sometimes (just sometimes) we’re lucky enough to want exactly what life gives us.

**Anders : Eurasian Jackdaw**

\- He thinks we’re selfish, says Glűckchen.  
Anders tries not to show how much he welcomes her landing. She spends most of her time flying, now that they’re both over the whole "severed bond" business, and he doesn’t want to begrudge her her freedom. The Wardens keep quiet about a nasty number of nasty things, but he’s grateful for this particular side effect of the Joining. Birds shouldn't be tethered to the ground.  
\- You’re not listening.  
\- I’m dazzled by your beauty. Who thinks we’re selfish ?  
\- The parasite. "Justice".  
\- And ? Aren’t we ?  
\- Of course we’re selfish ! We earned it. Justice’s just too dead to understand.  
\- Ruffled your feathers, has he ?  
\- Don’t get cute, she chides. It’s easy for him to be righteous, it’s not like he has anything to lose.  
Anders doesn’t want to think of what he has to lose. Not in too much details, at least.  
\- I’m too pretty to be righteous, he says instead.  
He's a man of many talents, but making her laugh is really what he does best. 

**Fenris : Cape Wild Dog**

They often wonder if Sedula was something else, before the ritual. They can’t help it, even though they aren’t sure which answer would be worse and know that it doesn’t matter. They wonder if she had a favourite shape.  
This is what they are now : skin marked from head to toes, jaws made to grind, large teeth, hair that shouldn’t be white.  
They both hate their bodies.  
Danarius, of course, greatly enjoyed Sedula’s appearance. "Painted wolves, or _lycaon pictus pictus_ ", he used to tell his guests. "They’re thought to be impossible to tame". Fenris used to find this idea terrifying. He clings to it now, when the silence stretches between them.  
They both hate their bodies, but they both agree that they wouldn’t want to look any different.  
\- It’s like the name, Sedula blurts out one day. It’s mine now. I wouldn’t change it.  
Fenris hums and bends to scratch her ears. The sun is warm against their faces, the sky clear above them, the road endless and welcoming. For once, the silence between them feels like a bond.

**Aveline : Mule**

Donnic had called her a beacon once. It had made Preux snort loudly, and Aveline think both of Ostagar and of the betrayal in Hawke’s voice, in front of the Arishok. _Aveline, is this true ?_  
\- I don’t put much stock in beacons, she had said.  
Preux and she are no hopebringer, no guiding light, except perhaps in the most prosaic way : on the battlefield, where enemies flock to them like moth. Maybe they think that a woman with a peasant’s daemon is more impressive than deadly. Maybe she should stop calling them to her, or hurling herself toward the front line. _And maybe_ , Isabella drawls, _it’s just your hair._ Maybe.  
When Aveline had come home with a daemon too large for her bedroom, her father had smiled and gone to fetch tools. _Looks like we’ll have to make some changes to the house_ , he had laughed. _It’ll take the time it takes, but we’ll get it done._  
It’s the same thing here : one must tend to one’s home.  
It takes the time it takes.

**Sebastian : Borzoï**

"My sly dogs", his favourite lover used to call them, greeting him in her room by carding her fingers through the knots under Fiona’s jaw.  


He has been assured, by centuries of literature on the subject, that a hound is a fitting daemon for the youngest son of a King. Especially one as poised as Fiona, who retains her elegance even when furious or afraid, even with a blood-covered snout, even when they were both still scoundrels and plotting the humiliation of some unsuspecting soul.  
\- Her hands where the loveliest part of her, adorned, clever and deft, more handsome than pretty. Her bat daemon’s fur remains to this day the softest thing he has ever touched. -  
He’s not so sure a hound is a fitting daemon for a servant of the Maker. Especially one as independent and stubborn as Fiona, who (like him) only ever does what she wants and (unlike him) never bothers with any guilt. 

She’s the only one he wrote to. Her answering letter opened with "Brought to heal, at last ?". He knows it was only a joke. He sometimes hopes it’s true. 

**Bethany : Eastern bluebird**

She goes to Carver first, because there are some things you share with your twin before you share them with anyone else.

...just kidding, she wants to rub it in his face. 

He’s skipping stones across the pond, ankle deep in the water, his daemon perched as a hawk on his shoulder.  
\- Do you think they’ve settled too ? whispers Philotimo in her ear.  
For an instant she wonders… but the hawk turns into an otter with a loud splash.  
\- Carver ! Bethany calls.  
She stops. She doesn’t know how to tell him. She thought, she realizes, that he would know the minute he saw her and she's not sure how…  
\- I think I’m a bluebird, says Philotimo.  
Her brother’s face journey is something else. She briefly worries – what if he feels left behind again ? what if he decides to be mean about it ? - But he smiles, a slowly widening smile, and suddendly hugs her with such force she almost expects to be lifted in a celebratory spin. Instead he takes a step back and his grin widdens even more :  
\- Shit, Bethany, that’s amazing. We need to tell everyone !  
They will have to, eventually. But…  
\- I want this moment to last just a bit longer, she says.  
She knows he understand.

**Carver : Eastern bluebird**

In that regard, Arete’s a late bloomer. Carver doesn’t mind. People expect him to, so they assume he’s lying but, really, he doesn’t mind. Arete enjoys shifting, so why should she stop ? And if others take offense when she becomes a great eagle or a mabari, well, tough. It’s not her fault their daemons are lame.  
Sometimes he thinks she’ll be a bird, because it kind of runs in the family. But magic kind of runs in the family too, and it skipped him, so who knows ? And who cares, anyway ? Not Carver. Not Arete.  
In the end, it is a bird, but he doesn’t notice right away. He’s exhausted, the world is chaotic and grey, he just saw Bethany’s body break and her daemon dissolve into nothing. So sue him, his mind is elsewhere. He doesn’t even hear Arete calling his name, at first. But when he finally looks at her, he recognizes everything, from the small beak to the blue and orange feathers – though hers aren’t as bright, as vibrant, as full of life.  
He tries to yell, to curse her, to demand that she… it’s she who speaks :  
"Carver, I can’t change back", she says.  
Looking at her hurts for years. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title, "Comes corporis", comes from Emperor Hadrian's poem _"Animula, vagula, blandula/Hospes comesque corporis_..." _Comes corporis_ is sometimes translated as "travelling companion of my body", which I think fits deamons pretty well, since Hadrian is adressing his own soul here.  
> I'm always happy to discuss daemons, so don't hesitate to contests my choices, or ask how I picked the names, or, well, anything really ! A lot of my answers will boil down to "because I felt like it" but I can also explain why I felt like it ;)


End file.
